


dominant

by saalem



Series: 30 prompts of Star Wars Ships [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Phasma takes care of hux, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 23:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saalem/pseuds/saalem
Summary: Hux goes to Phasma.





	dominant

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: dominant/aggressive
> 
> I like to pride myself for doing out of the ordinary things. Such as this. 
> 
> Note: choosing not to tag Ren as this isn't focused on Hux and Ren's relationship, though it is vaguely mentioned.

He goes to her like this. Traversing through the halls of the _Finalizer_ moments before the lights dim for first sleep cycle, polished boots tapping unhurriedly along the floor. 

Hux's head his held high and proud, not slouched in the slightest as he selects the quickest route.

Phasma is waiting when he raps on the door, as opposed to using the door chime, with gloved knuckles; the panel of sleek metal slides open before he can knock a second time. She stands just within the threshold, tall, unyielding (his salvation) with eyes so icy and unlike Ren's he shudders. 

"General," she greets and Hux steps past her, keenly aware of the door shutting behind him, aware of her unforgiving gaze on his back.

"Take them off." 

It's a command. His boots. He sits anxiously on the floor (not having been given permission for the couch) and unzips the length of each shoe. Hux is gathering them up so he can place them out of the way when her knee presses into the spot between his shoulders. 

His spine dips and he hunches forward. 

"Leave them, brat." _Brat_. That stings.

He says nothing.

"Go to the den and kneel. I trust you can manage that?"

His head bobs in compliance. The weight lifts and he stands in his socks, the prickle of her gaze not leaving him until he's rounded the corner, into the den and out of her sight.

Hux knows what to do from there. It's a game they've played many times before in Ren's absence and with his consent. He kneels at the foot of her desk, beside the chair she'll occupy in a matter of minutes - unless she's feeling cruel, then possibly hours.

Relief washes over him when she joins him, the chair barely creaking as she sits.

For a long time she ignores him, studying the most recent grades of her class; JM-0097 has a knack for killing but she's a fool with strategy, HU-1583 will be given his own command in the next simulation, and so on and so fourth.

It's not for an hour that Phasma pays Hux any attention. 

Her fingers bury themselves into his hair, nails scratching along his scalp in not an entirely unpleasant manner before she tugs him closer. Hux breathes heavily through his nose as it begins and he finds himself, oddly, pressed between her thighs, her hand guiding his head to lay on her leg. The position is awkward, he braces his hands on the floor but she pinches his ear in reprimand.

"Hands behind your back, Armitage, remember this isn't about your comfort." Phasma's tone is kind and admittedly the use of his first name gives Hux the little boost he needs. He wants to please. 

His hands settle as she instructs and he tries to ignore the burning sensation in the muscles of his back and the twinge of his ear. The discomfort fades as he melts against her.

She continues her work, occasionally stroking his cheek, or playing with his hair. Hux is relaxed to near sleep when she turns the holo off and leans back.   
He doesn't move, hasn't been instructed to, is unsure if he's even able to. His legs are long past aching, the bloodless constriction of kneeling on the hard surface leaving him blissfully numb.

"How long has it been?" 

Hux exhales.

"Almost a fortnight." 

Phasma hums in what Hux thinks is understanding. She traces the sharp edge of his cheekbone in thought.

He wants to elaborate, admit he's scared. That Ren has never been off ship for this long without report. Hux worries the mission has gone sour. Surely if it had Snoke would've contacted him. 

He swallows thickly beneath Phasma's palm.

"Fear has never suited you," she says.

It's an observation, a cold one.

Hux stares blankly ahead. 

"Armitage," she warns. He snaps back to himself - she won't allow him to disengage, not until he's gotten what he came here for.

"What do you need," she presses. He considers her wording. Need, not want.  
 _Ren_.

Hux can't say that, however. He takes a long time to decide on what he needs while she patiently combs fingers through his hair.

"I need-" he pauses, inhales, terrified his request will be brushed off, that she'll laugh, "to be held."

Her fingers still, curled around the shell of his ear, nails tickling the soft patch of skin behind it. Her silence is maddening until it isn't, until she strokes his jaw and taps expectantly on his cheek.

Straightening after such extended time kneeling causes his ribs to creak and spine pop. Hux settles back on his haunches as Phasma stands. 

At her beckon, he goes on shaky, painful legs, stumbling to close the distance between him and the bed she waits beside.

"You may lay," she says, he falls (or his knees give out) unceremoniously onto it's surface. Phasma leaves without further word and returns a moment later.

The bed dips beneath her, beside Hux and she rolls him onto his back. 

Her breath is cool against the side of his throat where his uniform treacherously fails to hide skin. "Drink."

She holds a clear glass of water to his lips and he drinks greedily, noting the slight bitter taste of a vitamin, or stim, compound he's never personally used before. He wonders what it's for. 

Once he's drank his fill, feeling refreshed, his legs tingling uncomfortably as blood rushes back to them, Phasma leaves again.

There's loss in her absence, a fear daring to creep up and strangle him as he lays there and frets. For the first time Hux feels out of place, wrong. As though he's asked for too much intimacy this time around. 

His shoulders shake, he presses his face into the sheets and prays to the elder gods that he's wrong. That he hasn't overstepped, disgusted her with his neediness. He's crying when she returns, out of uniform, and says nothing when she comes to him with all the graceful power of a warrior rippling beneath her skin. 

She's warm when she coddles him close, and is just as hard as Ren if not harder against the length of his back. 

Once settled Phasma takes the time to catch his chin between her forefinger and thumb, tilting him until he's craning backwards and sideways. Their eyes meet and she scoffs, he blinks his earlier tears away, lashes clumped together with the wet.

"You are a fool," she murmurs, kissing his damp cheek gently before her steel eyes bore into his once more. "A headstrong fool."

Hux knows this to be true and doesn't ask for her to clarify. She will.

"Letting yourself get to this point. Ren would have my head if I left you like this, intentionally or not." She shakes her head, releasing his and runs her fingers through his hair. "Promise me you won't withhold what you need, else there will be no next time. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Hux breathes. She curls around him tighter, harder, sensing he wants - no, needs - to be crushed in her embrace. 

She hums against his ear. 

"Good. Now, what do you need Armitage?"

Hux steels himself, proud his voice doesn't shake, and tells her.


End file.
